


Beneath The Moon

by Bluebellstar



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 19:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellstar/pseuds/Bluebellstar
Summary: It's late at night, and Richelieu is thinking.That's pretty much it.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 75





	Beneath The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of an experiment to see if I can write Richelieu properly.
> 
> I doubt it, but I thought i would post my attempt anyway.
> 
> I apologise for the title, I'm not good at them. It comes from Frank Sinatra's Night and Day.
> 
> This is Trevilieu because apparently I'm now hopelessly devoted to this ship. Years too late.

There are days, the days when the headaches come, and he has to muster every ounce of his strength not to show weakness in front of the vultures of court. Days when nothing he can do is good, and he must act the monster to do what will be right. Days when the arguments are bitter, and voices echo unforgivingly off the walls of his office. There are even days when it seems as though his influence is waning, when the King, the France, he is giving his life for, cannot bear to even glance at his face. There are days when he wonders how much more he can take, how much more toil before his account is balanced. There are days when he is forced to do unforgivable things, unconscionable things - all for the sake of France. And there are even days when everything seems hopeless, when his dreams of France's place in Europe seem overshadowed by the harsh realities. There are days he almost gives up, but he never will.

He never will because even those days end. With their end, they bring the nights. And the nights are...better. He can work all night and see a path to a better solution. Or drink his medicine and drowse before his fire. He can talk with Louis and be reassured of his place in his king's affections. Or he can pray for guidance and the strength to continue. But nothing, nothing can defeat the nights he loves most. The nights spent in quiet conversation, drinking some fine wine or a new blend of tea. The nights when angry words and the bitterness of the day are forgiven or forgotten (some things, even the endlessly good could never forgive). The nights that sometimes end with whispered affections and moans ringing off the walls of his chamber. Those are the nights he loves the best.

Those nights, those wonderful nights, all begin the same way. His door will open, as it is doing now, and the confident click of boots will ring on the floor. A cloak will be tossed carelessly over the nearest chair. And then, oh then, that voice that has yelled a thousand curses and whispered a thousand endearments, will reach his ears. "Armand?" And he will turn, because no matter how long it has been, it has been too long. And he will smile as much as a monster like him ever can, and that will be enough, as it always is.  
"Jean."

Oh yes, these nights, he loves the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
